


oh, devour me!

by amberwing



Series: I Think I Shall Praise It [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: A Brief And Very Upsetting Vanitas Cameo, Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Sex, Biting, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Choking, Dream Eater Riku (Kingdom Hearts), M/M, Monsterfucking, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tail Sex, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberwing/pseuds/amberwing
Summary: Sora didn’t realize until it was much too late that things were going downhill. It was easy to forget that sort of thing in the dreaming; everything felt so much simpler, bounded more by will than by physicality, and he could get swept away in the dance of it. The Realm of Sleep rewarded imagination, and that was Sora’s strength, after all; he was fuckingboundlesshere.





	oh, devour me!

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: [THAT’S A LOTTA NUTS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2vBZuLI3oI)  
alternate alternate title: Is it Bestiality if He Used To Be Mostly Human & We Love Each Other Very Much (Also Do I Care), A Treatise by Sora Kingdomhearts
> 
> I dedicate this chaotic mess to my writing group, for encouraging me to follow my horny, horny dreams. Huge thanks to [Saturdaynightspecial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturdaynightspecial) for the beta, and for telling me that I could go harder and it needed A LOT MORE DRAGON CUM. Credit to [Ilien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien) and their beautiful fic [Bone + Tissue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537576) for pioneering the concept of monstery dreameater Riku, which I have run with like a dog stealing food off the counter herein.

Sora didn’t realize until it was much too late that things were going downhill. It was easy to forget that sort of thing in the dreaming; everything felt so much simpler, bounded more by will than by physicality, and he could get swept away in the dance of it. The Realm of Sleep rewarded imagination, and that was Sora’s strength, after all; he was fucking  _ boundless _ here.

And, he had Riku. It had been a bit jarring the first few times, to be in the dreaming and find Riku beside him. Even now, years after that first, ill-fated Mark of Mastery, Sora was always a little afraid when he opened his eyes at the bottom of the drop that he’d be alone again. Then, he’d known Riku wasn’t far away—just separated from him, by a fold in phase, a sidestep in reality—and that they’d find each other again. He’d trusted in that. He still did. But that didn’t change that sometimes he could feel something like a knife edge inside of him, beckoning, crooning:  _ What if you lose him again, boy? What if you never wake up? _

But that was easy enough to silence. All he had to do was reach out and take Riku’s hand in his own, feel the warm, rough skin, the reality of his knuckles twined with Sora’s own, to know that this was real. They were bound together.  _ You’re dead, _ Sora told the void.  _ I killed you. You can’t take this from me. _

If Sora was boundless, Riku defied definition. Sometimes, he’d get a moment between waves of nightmares to watch him, and it was never any less awe-inspiring; Sora could get lost in the sinuous grace of him, his body just as sharp as Braveheart’s killing edge. He was so tall and so muscular and  _ so sweaty _ and—

“Sora!” 

Oh, right. Fighting. 

Sora ducked a swing from something black and dripping, stray droplets of ink searing against the back of his neck. Momentum pulled him into an arcing leap, and he slammed feetfirst into another nightmare, this one a shuddering mass of teeth and claws and wing-leather. The sensation of his shoes squashing into the giant, central eyeball that made up its body was pretty awful, but also  _ satisfying _ . It screamed, and claws scrabbled at his clothes as he went right through that sucker, taking its thick, gummy viscera with him for the ride; oil-spill iridescent blood and gunk splattered the cobblestones in a paintball massacre. 

At least heartless and nobodies had the decency to die cleanly. Nightmare duty was always SO gross.

A few meters off, Riku flung something violently purple off of him with a heave of his shoulders, slammed a foot into its chest, and skewered it through the skull with Braveheart. Sora’s heart fluttered, buoyant with pride and exhilaration and that specific emotion he could only define as “I Am Gay”. That one could cover a lot of ground, and Sora used it liberally in the face of actually parsing out individual emotions. 

“We’ve gotta get to the keyhole!” he called over the roiling masses of nightmares, and Riku glanced over at him. Oily goo was splattered across his face in intricate lace, and his tongue darted out to lick it from his lips as Sora watched.

_ Ah, yes _ , Sora thought, feeling very much like a sommelier,  _ I Am Gay _ .

“Where?” Riku yelled back, pulling Braveheart free of the nightmare’s corpse. Another centipede nightmare reared up behind him, and he whirled to neatly sever it in two, then crush the still-snapping head under his boot. “Can you sense it?” 

“Yeah! C’mon!” 

He’d felt it since they got there, of course. Every keyhole had a certain resonance to it, like the vibration of a guitar string or a low machinery hum. The Sleeping Worlds’ keyholes were on the quiet side compared to reality's, but Sora was really good at feeling them out. Maybe his long descent in the Mark of Mastery had given him a closer connection to them than most, or something equally weird and uncomfortable. 

But he didn’t have time to unpack all that!

This world was a labyrinth of mouldering castles steadily being devoured by dark, empty crystals. The battlements were flat-toothed human grins whose mortared gums were split apart by jagged fangs of crystal. Sora had seen an x-ray image of someone who’d been born with too many teeth back in grade-school, and all the buildings were eerily reminiscent of that: of skulls in stark white profile against sooty black, craggy ridge upon ridge of teeth running all through the jaw and up into the cranium. 

On a scale of one to ten, with one being “contains Meow-Wow and considerable potential for goofing off” and ten being “thanks, I hate it”, this world was probably close to a fifteen. 

Sora was good at ignoring the creepy stuff, usually. It was a matter of putting on the right blinders. The keyhole pulled at him, and he could even go so far as close his eyes, let it guide him like a moth to a flame. Except with less inevitable catching on fire, hopefully. So that’s what he did. He took a deep breath, centered that faint tug, and vaulted into the air. 

Nightmares clogged the sky with such density that it wasn’t flying so much as platforming a video game; Sora used winged eyeballs and swollen jello-constructs studded with ears and mouths full of cilia as stepping stones to climb the heights. Things swiped and bit at him, but the tug of the keyhole was getting stronger. 

“Almost there!” he called over his shoulder. He knew Riku was following close behind, could feel their connection, strong and unbreakable. “It’s just up here!”

He alighted on the cupola of the tallest spire and swung inside, rolling to avoid the swipe of the nightmare right on his heels. Starlight flashed into his hands and thrust right into the thing’s open maw; a twist of the keyblade's barbed head was all it took to tear its jaw straight out and send it flying back into the void with a wet scream. 

The keyhole was a second heartbeat syncopated to his own; Sora could almost touch it—and that was where it started to go wrong. 

There was someone in the way, someone who should not have been there: a black-robed, black-hooded figure standing atop the now-glowing shape of the keyhole. Sora’s mouth went dry. 

“Xehanort,” he whispered, but that was impossible, that was—

“You’re dreaming,” they said in a low, soft murmur, and the illusion was broken; Xehanort had never whispered. Xehanort had only ever  _ proclaimed _ . More differences suddenly filtered in: this black coat was cut like a judge’s robes, heavy with silver embroidery and violet sigils. A red half-mask covered everything save their nose and mouth, which was curled into a knowing smile. Compared to every other nightmare he’d seen, this one was strangely human. 

And they were most certainly a nightmare, in spite of their appearance. He could smell the miasma of them, like stagnant water and too-sweet rot. That they were a complete unknown was a relief; if this  _ had _ been some shade of Xehanort, Sora wasn’t... Wasn’t really quite sure how he’d deal.

Not  _ well _ , for sure. It was just a matter of figuring out how far down the rabbit hole of unaddressed traumatic experiences that would take him.

“You should leave. This place isn’t for you any longer.”

Where was Riku? He should have been up by now. A trickle of cold concern—not fear, not yet, Riku could handle himself, he knew that—ran down his spine.

“Dreaming or not, I’ve got a job to do,” he told them, raising Starlight to a guard. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Good,” they said, and lunged. Sora barely had time to duck, felt something sharp and powerful catch at the collar of his shirt. Snarling, he went with the movement, bowling his shoulder into their torso. Their body  _ gave _ in a boneless way that made his skin crawl, and compressed equally badly when his weight slammed them both into the far wall of the cupola. 

Too-cold breath hissed between their teeth, right up Sora’s nose. He choked, and then choked again as a hand clenched around his throat. Claws dug in, so cold they burned. He couldn’t see their eyes, even this close; the mask might as well have covered a half-skinned skull. He was staring into empty, black pits even as they opened their still-soft, still-living lips. 

He did  _ not _ sign up for this zombie apocalypse. 

With a twist of his shoulders and torso that hurt almost as bad as this thing’s fucking  _ claws in his neck _ , he rammed Starlight up into where they should’ve had a ribcage, where he  _ should’ve _ felt it puncture all the hot, heavy organs a living thing had—but there was nothing, because this was a nightmare. It was like sinking a pole into the soft, gluey mud of low tide at the docks, and equally impossible to pull free. 

“You are much too late,” they whispered to him, like the whole matter of being impaled on his keyblade like a fish wasn’t consequential at  _ all _ . Sora tried to pull away, but the claws were so deep in his neck that—hmm, maybe the nightmare wasn’t the fish? Maybe...  _ he _ was the fish?

“It saddens me,” they continued. “I wish you had been here when it mattered. This world is a memory of failure.” Sora gathered himself enough to kick at their belly, trying to lever Starlight out of them before they choked him to death. His foot just sank into the awful muck of it like it wasn’t even just nightmare glop, but a dark corridor swallowing him up to the knee.

_ Oh, god, _ Sora realized with horrified, air-starved clarity.  _ I’m being vored to death. _

He couldn’t gather the breath to yell at them. Everything was getting fuzzy around the edges, blips of black floating across his vision like static. Where was Riku? Something must have happened to him. Fear bloomed in his chest, cold and vile, and with the last of his air he torqued his body violently, using his lodged foot as the lever to pull them both to the floor.

With an awful sucking sound, his leg came free. His heart hammered in his chest as he dismissed Starlight then called it back to him; the blade flashed into his hand and he slammed it into the nightmare’s mask. Heaving a breath, he rolled away and back to his feet, raising the keyblade to deal the deathblow. 

Through the crack in their half-mask, Sora saw eyes, finally: human and brown, framed by long lashes, half-lidded above that enigmatic smile. “You could have taught the hero so much. Where were you when he needed you?” 

“I’m sorry,” Sora gasped—and he was, for whatever sad story lay behind all this desolation, for everything that he couldn’t fix, he was so sorry, every day, every minute, every waking moment—and brought Starlight down.

Something broke, but it wasn’t the nightmare. His breath was caught on something stubbornly lodged in his throat. “No apology is enough,” the nightmare said, each word pronounced delicately. Sora swayed, dizzy suddenly, and felt Starlight leave his hand; his fingers stretched after it before he realized it was gone. He’d have to call it again, but for whatever reason he couldn’t feel it in his heart and—

The world jerked sideways, and suddenly he was in the nightmare’s lap. The cold metal of their gauntlets stroked his hair back from his brow, soothing. “I know, it isn’t fair,” they crooned. “I should let you destroy me—but my pride will not have it.” 

Sora desperately wanted to ask what the  _ fuck _ this thing was going on about, but he felt like he was going to faint. Why was he going to faint? What? Why wasn’t Riku with him? Why couldn’t he feel Riku anymore? 

Where was Riku?

_ What had they done with Riku? _

Oh, that was a giant fucking icicle sticking out of his ribs, wasn’t it? That’d explain… quite a lot. Like how he couldn’t really breathe, how his entire world was spiraling inward on that central point of pain. He could feel—air, cold and terrible, against parts of him that never should’ve seen light. When he inhaled, the shaft ground further against his ribs, like pencils in a sharpener. He was drowning in this tower. Everything tasted copper. 

The nightmare leaned down, their lips nearly touching him. Their breath was damp and chill and invasive, tickling his ear. “Here are my parting words, Bringer of Light. I am what remains of Igeyorhm, and I  _ regret _ .” 

“You’ll regret  _ more _ ,” he managed to choke, desperation and anger and fear curling his lips, coiling with the agony of his punctured everything into something hot and hungry. His voice sounded awful and wet, even to him, and he could barely get the words out through the thickness of blood and spit and bile flooding his mouth. “I take it back. I’m—not fucking sorry anymore.”

And, for this brief moment in time, Sora really, truly wasn’t. This was a dream—and he was a dreamer, he was the action and the reaction of this reality. This place was empty and dead of everything but teeth and bones and blackness, so he’d make those work for  _ him _ , wrench it up in fistfuls until he was drenched in it, another shadow among countless. 

Except he was faster, stronger, and angrier than everything else in this dream, and he **_needed to find Riku_****.**

That was when it all went a little hazy.

If Sora had to describe when he lost it, more than a little bit, he’d compare it to handing the reins of himself to someone (or something) else. Everything became extraordinarily  _ present _ : colours sharpened to a jagged, brilliant mosaic, and sounds and smells grew strong enough to guide him blind. He didn’t have the time or desire to think, just to move. His body was a lightning strike searching for a ground, and he was just a passenger, urging the driver on: faster, harder, go go go go GO!

Because if he stopped, he’d be thinking about all the things he wasn’t sorry for right now, about the past, about Xehanort (“ **VENTUS** ,” his driver screamed, and he was a whip studded with razors across Sora’s shoulders, teeth and claws and barbed wire scrabbling for purchase in Sora’s ribs, still screaming throat raw spit bloodshot eyes aflame: “ **XEHANORT!”** ), about the things he pretended he’d forgotten (he hadn’t, he hadn’t forgotten, it was all still there resting loud and insistent inside of him).

So he couldn’t stop. He had to go, he had to survive and cover everything up so he could forget again (pretend to forget again) with running and hunting and killing. 

Things moved too fast to really track—and he didn’t want to know, didn’t want too close a look at this. Fragments of memory were too much already. It became a slideshow of moments, of Igeyorhm’s strangely human face caught in shock, terror,  _ rage _ that didn’t compare to his own; of the sensation of his fingers (claws) ripping chunks of wriggling flesh free like a shark nuzzling hungrily into the belly of a whale; of the taste of nightmares, bitter and achingly sweet. It was terrible. It was beautiful. It was everything.

Igeyorhm’s voice didn’t fade so much get shunted aside, abrupt as changing a television channel, when he tore their head off their shoulders. The body flopped and collapsed under him into half-melted chunks, slowly losing cohesion, covering the still-brilliant keyhole in iridescent tar. The head he clutched by the hair (short, black, like his own—no, no,  _ no _ ) and flung out the window of the cupola.

Next slide. He crouched in the windowframe. The teeth of the world gleamed so white. Where was Riku? Something was happening, down, so far below his body leaned gargoyle-like to try and taste the air with a blackened tongue: two shapes, one massive and monstrous, one small and bright.

Next slide. He was with them now, perched delicate atop the rubbery expanse of the monstrosity’s back. Its skin was puce and stretched obscenely over quivering lumps and growths of flesh and tongue and teeth. A bulbous tentacle swatted for him, and—next slide.

There were so many mouths. He reached past the jagged walls of lips and grabbed a tongue, pulled it free easy as plucking fruit from a tree. Something was screaming. It may have been him. It may have been the thing. It may have been the light, darting and frantic below, calling.

He could burrow into the awful cavities of this thing like a worm into an apple and  _ fester _ . So he did. 

Next slide: the monstrosity’s skin sloughed away in chunky sheets of fat and ooze, gelatinous, cold, slick, coating him from head to toe in stench. He was choking on it, reveling in it, dying in it—until something grabbed his wrist and pulled him free, pulled him into a warm embrace that he couldn’t—he couldn’t—he wasn’t supposed to  _ be here _ —

“Come back, please, come  _ back _ —”

“ **No** ,” the driver said for him, and it burned all the way out of his throat, acid and fire and smoke. His teeth sank into Riku easy, bones an anchor for the seeking power of his jaw, his claws; he groaned into salt skin and flesh, into the sensation of reality against his tongue. Nightmares were  _ nothing _ , cold and empty and too sweet;  _ this _ was what he wanted, what he needed: something solid, something real, something that filled his mouth until he thought he’d choke on the sheer life of it.

He groaned into Riku’s neck, and Riku clutched at him, his body one long shudder from chest to belly to groin. “Let him go,” was snarled into his mouth, glorious heat, flutter of tongue, hard slick teeth clicking against his. “He’s  _ not yours.” _

Next slide. His claws were buried in Riku’s ribcage, scratch of slick bone, soft muscle, hot blood. His fingers encircled Riku’s heart just to feel the intoxicating, unending rhythm of it, so he could pretend it was his own. He wanted to swallow him down, wanted to eat him up from head to toe until everything was inside, every little bit was  _ his _ and no one else’s. Next next next slide. “ **More** ,” his driver whispered, and Riku  _ was _ more, he was everything he’d ever wanted, ever dared to dream of.

He could feel Riku’s chest heaving against him, hands clutched on his forearms to try to shove him away, but the more he pushed the harder he squeezed. Riku gasped like he was dying and, yes, that was exactly it; he was killing him.

“GET OUT!” someone screamed, and he realized it was his own voice, torn out of his throat raw and terrified. Riku’s heart pumped in his hand and he didn’t want this, he didn’t, he couldn’t— “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT—”

“Let him go or I’ll fucking devour you,” Riku repeated, low and commanding and all-encompassing, vibrating through his ribcage until his very soul was shaking with it.

“ **You can try,” ** his driver laughed, and wrenched his heart out.

It burned in his hand as though he’d pulled an ember from a bonfire; it ate into his palm, through the shadow, through the flesh, until he was just a skeleton clutching the pulsing flame of it. Riku crumpled to the nightmare-splattered ground, and with his fall the world spun and split like a peach in a giant’s hands, celluloid pulling apart and burning until great holes marred the surface of reality and— 

With a great heave, everything stretched and burst like a squeezed cyst, and Sora felt his body shiver with surprise. Something was coming. Something—

“Last chance,” the something said, so close so loud so familiar, and the still-beating heart he clutched in his raw-boned hand began to pump faster. The dreaming place they’d stood in had fallen apart, torn to pieces by some great seeking maw, and now he was alone in a vast blackness. 

Alone, save for the hot breath of the something down his neck, ruffling the shadows that coiled off of him in faint trails of smoke.

“ **Oh, is that the big bad wolf come to blow my house down?** ” his driver murmured, and took a bite from the heart in his hand like an apple. It was fibrous and dense against his teeth. “ **Whatever shall this little piggy do?** ” 

Something dripped onto his forehead. He looked up, and saw teeth, saw green, green eyes. Another droplet of nightmare fell to his cheek from the maw above him, cold and gelatinous as it slid down to his lips, his chin. His tongue ran a slow perimeter of his lips, tasting bitterness and blood.

“ _ Squeal _ ,” the something said, and fuchsia claws as long as his thumb clenched into his shoulders, digging into his shadow-skin with the ease of steel through fat. He watched, captivated, as he bled. Then with unearthly speed, the claws fisted into him and began to peel.

It hurt. But that was what he wanted, now. His hand shook and clutched around the bitten heart. Thick, awful clots dripped down his skeletonized hand and into the shadow-flesh of his wrist until he couldn’t hold it anymore, had to drop it into the blackness around them. His body trembled, shuddered; from the corner of his eye he saw colour, flashes of blue and fuchsia and gold, and reached for it, his skin sticking to the underside of his driver’s darkness like a cloak of hooks and burrs—just a little bit further, he was screaming, his driver was screaming, someone was weeping—

And Sora tumbled free of it. His ribs shuddered with each breath that whistled out of him; he couldn’t pull his jaws apart for fear of finding the tumbled heart and taking another bite of it. 

He’d been to Wonderland enough times to know the full range of trips a person could go on—highs and lows, sideways and diagonals—and that had been absolutely the  _ worst _ thing that had happened to him in years. Wow! Wow.  _ Wow _ . 

(He shouldn’t have needed to rely on this anymore, on deflecting and burying and pretending it hadn’t happened, or that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been when  _ it most certainly fucking was _ .

And yet he couldn’t stop the endless, frivolous patter of his mind; if he did, he’d probably lose it entirely.)

“Sora?” Riku asked from above, and he looked up and up and up until all the bones in his spine creaked. “Are… are you okay? I should have been here sooner.”

_ Wow _ , Sora thought again, unable to come up with anything more intelligent. His hand—no longer blackened and skeletal, just his, a regular old brown hand with a couple slightly crooked fingers from bad breaks—pulled upwards of its own accord, bypassing any stopgap mental efforts to turn him into a living statue. He was shaking, hard, and only stopped when his fingertips met Riku’s cheek. Riku inhaled sharply. His skin shivered under Sora’s touch. 

“I’m—”  _ No, don’t lie.  _ “No.” 

He didn’t get to ever really  _ see _ Riku in his nightmares, because he didn’t ever have nightmares anymore. Riku was as efficient a nighttime protector as he was a daylight one; Sora hadn’t put much thought into it outside of love and gratitude and maybe a generous handful of longing for those days when he’d wake up and Riku would still have fangs or claws or (his favourites) any other assortment of Weird Parts. You know, wings. A tail. Maybe some fun little spines or scales.

But in the dreaming? Sora hadn’t ever… actually seen Riku dream-eating, now that he thought about it. And Riku had never said anything about the actual mechanics of it—about  _ this _ , whatever  _ this _ was. His first impression was that it was, basically, A Lot, both physically (metaphysically?) and emotionally.

“Riku?” he asked, very quietly. 

Riku’s breath was warm against his wrist as he exhaled, slowly. His lips barely covered his fangs, and when he spoke Sora had to force himself to pay attention to what he was saying. The motion of them, the flicker of his tongue behind the cage of ivory, the movement of massive jaw muscles under his palm, was—well, like he’d said, A Lot. “...Yeah?” 

There was so much concern in that single word that Sora had to stop himself from turning away. He bit his tongue fiercely. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Riku replied softly. “But it isn’t yours, either.” 

Oh, busted. But—of course he was. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, drawing a breath in hard through his teeth. Let it out again. “It’s—god, I know you’re right. But it really doesn’t feel like it.” 

A gentle claw tipped his chin back up. It wasn’t exactly the face he’d fallen in love with, for sure, but—just another facet that Riku had finally found the confidence to show him. He could’ve just left once the nightmare was gone, let Sora wake up normally. But he was here still, sharing this. Trying to help him feel better, which—god, this was such a Riku-ism that Sora nearly had to laugh. It got stuck in his throat along the way, and emerged more like a cough, or maybe a sob. 

Riku’s strange (beautiful) features contorted, new forms of worry and sadness that Sora had to learn all over again, and his other entirely-too-big hand came to cup his cheek. It was rough and hot and nearly covered the entire half of Sora’s face. “I know.”

His skull clamored with argument:  _ No, you don’t. You’ve seen it but you haven’t lived it. You haven’t wanted in that same way. Our experiences aren’t the same. You can’t save me from everything—and you shouldn’t try to. Maybe if you hadn’t been protecting me, I’d have died here, and I wouldn’t have to know that I’m capable of killing you in so many different ways. Maybe you wouldn’t have to watch me do that, over and over again. _

But that wasn’t fair, he knew; his heart rebelled at the thought. Riku  _ did _ know. Riku had watched the world fall apart. Riku had watched him die. There was a kind of cruel irony to that: that they’d both accidentally managed to follow the same path, careened headlong down the edge of a blade, slipped and fallen and doggedly climbed back up in spite of how deep it cut.

Another awkward laugh-like sound crawled its way out of him. He reached for Riku’s hand, and Riku met him halfway. God, his hands were so big. Who gave him the right? He felt like a toddler crossing the street for the first time, his hand almost completely engulfed. “Is it always like this?” he asked after a moment, staring down at their entwined fingers. 

Claws stroked through his hair. “What do you mean?”

What  _ did _ he mean? He had no fucking idea. There were too many options, and every answer Sora could think of would be—hard to hear, especially from Riku. Because Riku  _ knew _ . He’d probably dealt with this exact same problem, without the safety net of his own personal nightmare exterminator. 

Because Sora knew without a doubt that he was an idiot, he settled on the easy way out. “Um,” he said slowly, daring to glance up into Riku’s eyes. They had settled into a dim blue-green, like doldrum seas. What did that mean? Was there someone out there he could order some kind of dreameater boyfriend moodring guide from? “The… This.” And he gestured at him, not quite sure how else to put it. 

Riku flushed a brighter shade of blue, and that distracted Sora long enough for his heart to thump treacherously in his chest. “Not often.” His hand tightened around Sora’s, trembling slightly. Sora’s stomach dropped. He should’ve known better than to think there were any safe conversational options. They were in the remnants of his hell-dreamscape; clearly nothing could be easy and everything he did was tailored to make Riku feel bad. “It depends on how big the nightmare is.”

Nausea crowded Sora’s throat. Oh, no. “Does it… hurt?” 

Riku’s eyes widened, with—panic? Distress? Something like that, something Sora hadn’t meant to evoke. “ _ No _ ! No, Sora, you never hurt me. Being like this is—” He huffed with frustration, the force of it blowing Sora’s hair across his forehead. “It’s a little weird, but it’s worth it.”

“A little weird,” Sora repeated, and what was supposed to be joking came out shattered. “Riku, I killed you. I—I ate—” Oh god, he could taste it again: metal and stringy meat and nightmare. His own heart felt like a frantic, terrified animal caught in his ribcage; his head spun, his gorge rose. He tore his hand from Riku’s to turn around and fall to his knees, heaving helplessly into the dark. 

Something massive and warm came to rest beside him, and gentle hands stroked his back and shoulders, pulled his hair away from his face as he sobbed and spat. By the time he ran out of—of unspeakable things to vomit out, he was trembling and couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m just making this worse.”

Something fine and soft draped over him, strangely familiar. He managed to pull his head up and saw the fragile fingerbones of a wing curled around him, framing sails like dawn painted dark. Riku, protecting him again. Oh, fuck, he was really crying now. He pressed his hands against his mouth like that would hold it all in, squeezed his eyes shut.

“You’re not making it worse,” Riku told him, so soft that Sora felt it more than heard it: a long, low vibration from Riku’s body into his own where they were pressed up against one another. 

“ _ How _ ,” Sora managed through his fingers. Maybe if he curled into himself tightly enough, he could become a pillbug and just burrow into the earth. Except there was no earth: just blackness, and Riku, and he couldn’t leave Riku by himself here. He’d never leave Riku alone in the dark ever again.

“Well,” Riku said slowly, considering. A big arm wrapped itself around him and tucked Sora in closer against his chest. “Of all the people we’ve been possessed by, your punk-ass evil alter-ego is probably the  _ least _ threatening option." 

He choked a laugh through blood and snot and tears. Oh, god, he was smearing it all over Riku’s—wait, no, Riku wasn’t wearing a shirt. Okay, Riku’s chest. Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? Were they still operating on dream logic, where everything was a suggestion? “He’s not  _ mine _ ,” Sora managed, pressing his forehead into firm, warm muscle and wrapping his arms around the—wow, how fucking big was he now? like he wasn’t huge enough already?—curve of his ribs. “He came with Ven and he... didn’t leave with him, when Ven woke up.”

“Next time,” Riku muttered, “I’ll send worse than an eviction notice.”

Sora’s fingers clenched in spite of himself. The texture of Riku’s skin was different, velvety and sumptuous as it transitioned into the now-familiar peach-fuzz of wing membranes. “No. Even if I could just—throw him out, somehow, it’s not his fault.” 

Riku drew in a breath, his ribcage expanding against Sora’s forehead, then let it out again in a sigh. His claws drew a soothing pattern on Sora’s waist. “Alright,” he said softly, and Sora could hear the wry, unhappy twist of a frown. “Do you want to… wake up?”

Did he? Would that make this better? Probably not. Awake, things would loosen in his mind, as all dreams did, and eventually fade into a vague recollection of discomfort and fear. That would just beg the bigger question:  _ should  _ he forget? Should Riku be eating all his negativity like his own personal extremely handsome charcoal cleanse? 

Wasn’t it unfair to ask Riku to keep this vigil for him however many nights? Whenever he woke from his own nightmares, sweat-drenched and pale, shaking as Sora stroked his hair and murmured stories, sweet nothings, there was this awful clenching inside of him; why couldn’t he do the same for Riku? Why did Riku have to suffer and he could coast on, safe and sound? (But, he reminded himself, Riku  _ wanted _ to be his dreameater, and had told him once, so shyly and so tentatively, that it felt good—and far be it from Sora to take that away from him. But that didn’t make it any less selfish.

How selfish was he allowed to be? He still didn’t know.) 

A long, shaky sigh worked itself out of him, and he burrowed his face a little further into Riku’s ribs. He was terrible at this. His whole body ached, his mouth tasted awful, and he just wanted to… stop, for a while. Just a little while. 

“Will you still be this big and cozy if I do?” he asked. And it was a valid question. Being completely enfolded like this, in the warm, solid blanket of this extremely aesthetically pleasing version of Riku, was. Good. Really good. After the initial disappointment of his height petering out  _ way  _ below what he’d wanted, he’d realized that it left him at the perfect height to tuck his head under Riku’s chin, and this took it to a new level of pure, unadulterated hibernating squirrel instinct. “Otherwise, I... I think I’d like to stay here.” 

“I—” Riku stopped himself abruptly, and when Sora looked up into his face his expression was squinty-eyed and frowning, like he was calculating astrophysics in his head. Which, given the direction everything had gone so far, he might well be. It was, as usual, adorable. “Well—”

When the calculations began to take more than a couple seconds, Sora pressed his forehead back into his chest and reached up blindly to stop them, squashing his hand against what he assumed to be Riku’s mouth. 

It was. Smooth, powerful teeth clicked together tightly beneath his fingertips, keeping his hand from accidentally entering The Endless Maw (Riku’s mouth). Riku’s ribcage expanded sharply, pushing Sora backwards unexpectedly enough that he nearly lost his balance and had to grab onto the leading edge of his wing to keep from falling over.

Riku’s smirk shouldn’t have been as strangely sweet as it was as he levered Sora back up with his wing alone, the momentum tugging him into an embrace like a dancer spinning his partner back in. Sora was raw and tired and trying so hard not to be upset anymore, and Riku’s arms wrapping him up like something precious after all of this was almost more than he could handle. 

“I don’t want to wake up yet,” he whispered, “but… Can we go somewhere else?”

“This is your dream,” Riku said, lips brushing against his brow. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Somewhere bright. But—you choose?” 

“Bright, huh,” Riku murmured thoughtfully. “I think I know.”

His stomach dropped out, and he reflexively took a deep breath in preparation of hitting water—because sleep and dreams were just another ocean, endlessly deep. He knew by now to treat it just like a dive, to stretch himself into a needle of consciousness and slide into the deep with as little splash as possible, feel the pressure of it, the streams of unseen bubbles caressing his sides; just as abruptly, the weight of it was gone and they broke the surface. 

Sora’s ears popped with such force it hurt. Cursing, he shook his head wildly, trying to clear imaginary water from his ears. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it; Riku had apparently taken “bright” to heart and lead them to somewhere approximately the same wattage as the surface of the sun. Squinting, he raised a hand to shade his eyes, blinking through the searing brightness.

_ Oh _ .

It was a city made entirely from gold. Massive, glowing step pyramids soared above a city built almost completely into red-clay cliffs. Light dripped down the gilded, carefully geometric buildings in cascades, sent bright coins scattering across the surface of a dark, swift river. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of strange, alluring flowers; greenery spilled over every available surface, rioting for space across terraces and courtyards. Life clamored around him as though he’d stumbled into a festival. Raucous bird calls; the dull roar of a waterfall; distant, alien music; and the cacophony of marketplaces settled over him in comforting white noise. 

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Bright enough?” Riku asked him, and the smugness in his voice had to be dealt with immediately. Sora rounded on him, ready to throw down with some heavy duty affection, and had to stop again because Riku in sunlight pretty much stopped his heart. 

The impression of—of  _ whatever _ was going on that he’d gathered in the heavy monochrome of the in-between had been only the beginning. That beginning had been pretty great. Stunning, actually. But this?

Who gave him the  _ right _ , Sora wondered plaintively, to pull out the deepest, most secret of Sora’s more-than-strange fantasies and put them on display like this?  _ Who? _

Because this was more than just A Lot; this Riku, towering and sleek and otherworldly, was a direct assault on his libido and by  _ god _ this was not the time. 

But as Riku moved—indolently, decadently elegant as a sphinx, every coiling, sensuous bunch of muscle and shiver of spines and frills catching the light and gleaming like he’d bathed in liquid fire—Sora realized, with a hint of regret, that there might not  _ be _ another time.

Besides, as long as he was staring at Riku he wasn’t thinking about how horrible everything had just been a few minutes ago, and that seemed to be his only option for dealing with the situation gracefully.

“Sora?” 

“Um,” Sora said, quite intelligently. “Sorry, I. Wow?” 

“Yes,” Riku said dryly, and sat, neat and careful and cat-like. They were atop some sort of terrace, high above the bustle of humanity; it had to be a kind of… pleasure gazebo? Or whatever one called a private overlook full of golden trinkets and lushly woven soft things to sit on. Calling it a pleasure gazebo, even mentally, just encouraged the coiled twist of electricity in his stomach to spark a bit, so as of this moment that’s what it was. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m totally fine.” 

Riku’s eyes narrowed, disbelieving. They were green again, bright and clear, though his pupils had contracted to slits against the light. He stood again to crowd up to him, and settled back on his haunches to press a hand to Sora’s forehead like he was testing for a fever. “Fine, huh? You look like you’re going to have a heatstroke and we’ve been here less than five minutes.”

Sora swallowed. “Oh, that’s—that’s not it. This is nice!”

The hand withdrew again, and Riku cocked his head to the side, frowning. The concern wrinkling his brow broke Sora’s heart a bit. “Sora,” he said softly, tentative. “Are you sure you don’t want to wake up?” 

“No!” Riku drew back, startled, ears flicking with some variety of distress, and Sora winced. He reached up to cup Riku’s cheek apologetically, stroking along the bump of bone there. “I’m sorry, I’m. You’re just. You’re so beautiful? And I don’t… I don’t know how to…”

Riku’s expression softened, and he cupped Sora’s hand against his cheek with his own.  _ God _ , his hands were so fucking big. “That’s all?” he asked, and his voice was so kind and so soft that Sora had to look away, down at the evenly carved blocks of the floor. 

“It’s not  _ all _ ,” he argued haltingly, leaning back into Riku’s chest before he could stop himself. Riku’s other arm wrapped around his shoulders, pressing him in with just the right amount of pressure, until all he could hear was the slow in and out rush of Riku’s breath, the powerful drum of his heart. “I’m just so bad at this. I don’t know how to… To  _ deal _ with things. I just end up having to distract myself instead of facing anything.”

Riku didn’t say anything for a moment, just rubbed soothing circles between Sora’s shoulderblades (which did  _ not _ help with the current state of affairs in Sora’s pants, which were trending away from  _ All Quiet on the Western Front _ towards  _ The Joy of Sex _ ). “There’s no real… right way to heal,” he murmured at last. “I’m pretty sure it’s always going to be difficult, and feel bad.”

Sora choked a laugh. “Yeah, okay. But—I don’t even think I’m healing, Riku. It’s like I keep picking the scab or something.”

“First, gross. Second,” and there was the soft pressure of a kiss against the top of his head before Riku continued, his breath warm against Sora’s scalp, “even if you’re picking at it, it’ll patch itself up eventually. It’ll just leave a bigger scar, that’s all.”

“Nice job running with the metaphor,” Sora quipped, trying not to sound like he was going to start crying again. 

“I’m very good at this,” Riku reassured him, and Sora could hear the smile in his voice. “But I think… sometimes, you need more distance from something before you can leave it alone. Really  _ accept _ it and move on. And that distance is different for everyone.” 

Oh, great, now he was turned on  _ and _ sobbing again. He shoved his face into the general area of Riku’s pec, reaching as far around him as he could. “Thanks,” he whispered thickly, and sniffed, trying not to get more snot all over him. “Sorry about all of this.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Riku told him. The hand on his back ghosted up to cup the back of his neck, firm, grounding, and Sora shivered in spite of himself. Like this, Riku could probably encircle his throat one-handed, and that was… hmmmmMM? “I believe in you, Sora. You’ll find your way.” 

“God, how can you be so cheesy and so hot at the same time?” 

Honestly? How  _ dare _ he?

“I’d ask you the same question. ‘You’re so beautiful,’” he repeated, in a higher pitch that cracked and warbled ridiculously. Sora croaked a laugh into his chest. “‘Oooh, Riku, your eyes are like those really rare fancy marbles I always wanted—’”

“Lies and slander,” Sora growled, pulling back enough to glare up at him. “And they’re called onionskins, asshole.” 

Riku’s grin was so big and happy and startlingly white that Sora’s heart nearly blew out of his chest. His eyes had narrowed to smug, delighted crescents of Sora's favourite hot pink. “Big words, little man.”

Sora wanted to kiss him. So, he did. It took an awkward crane upwards on tiptoe, hands on Riku’s shoulders for balance, and it was—different. Really good different. Riku made a startled noise into Sora’s mouth, teeth hard and hot and parting enough that a little puff of breath, a little flicker of tongue brushed against his lips. The hand on his neck tightened reflexively, then carefully loosened again as Sora sunk back down to his heels, trying not to look as frighteningly turned on as he felt right now because holy  _ shit _ . 

They stared at one another for a moment. Riku’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Sora’s breath caught in his throat. His pupils expanded as Sora watched, nearly eclipsing the hot fuschia glow of them, and—oh, god, Riku was blushing again, and the fact that it was bright blue on dark instead of his usual lobster-red was adorable beyond words. 

“Riku?” 

Riku swallowed, and his voice cracked a little, rough and hesitant. “Sora?” 

Fuck, he was blushing too; his eyes were hot from all the crying still, and now his cheeks burned to match. At this point it shouldn’t have been so—so strangely vulnerable; they’d been together through so much at this point that Riku suddenly being a humongous bat-dragon-cat-velociraptor-monster who had just recently ripped Sora out of his own dream skin shouldn’t have been all that remarkable. They’d been messing around with his residual transformations for  _ ages _ now. 

Still, it was hard to force out the question. It felt inappropriate somehow, after everything, but god, when had either of them ever been evenly remotely close to appropriate? 

“Do you want to…?”

Riku’s entire long, graceful neck was flushing too now. “I’ve never—” he started, then looked away, clearing his throat. “I don’t really know if I  _ can _ , like this.”

He nearly sagged with relief. Oh, that was all? “Define ‘can’,” he quipped, and Riku snorted. “You liked the kiss, right?” 

“I always like kissing you,” he retorted, chin lifted haughtily. “Just—I don’t… know if.” Sora leaned closer, nodding encouragingly, but Riku refused to meet his eyes. In a deeply mortified whisper, he added, “ _ I don’t know if I even have a dick, Sora _ .” 

“We can find out…?” Riku’s eyes darted back to him, pupils contracting slightly. Sora squeezed his shoulders soothingly, giving him a lopsided smile. “But—it’s okay! I’m just curious, you know? This place is so amazing, we can go do all sorts of things in the city instead or just hang out here or—”

_ “Or, _ we can find out,” Riku interrupted urgently, cupping Sora’s chin with his claws. “I’d like to.”

Before Sora could think of anything even remotely intelligent to reply to  _ that _ , Riku kissed him, carefully, slowly, so strangely; he squeaked before he could stop himself, and then Riku’s tongue, hot and slick and  _ so long, _ was teasing at his lips, asking, tentatively,  _ may I? _

_ Always, always, always _ , was the answer; there was no other and never would be. Riku tipped his chin up and Sora let him in, hands clenching into his shoulders at the barest stroke and flutter of tongue against his own, the long, slow whisper of Riku’s breath against his lips. Riku started to pull away, probably to ask something ridiculous like "are you  _ sure  _ this is what you want _ ",  _ which was incredibly endearing and so fucking sweet he could feel his teeth preemptively decaying, but also just.  _ Ridiculous _ . Sora growled at him and grabbed his cheeks with both hands, pulling him back in firmly and nipping sharply at his lower lip until Riku gave in, his helpless groan resonating through Sora's entire body like a bell toll.

Riku’s teeth felt dangerous against his mouth, like if he moved too quickly he’d be cut to pieces, and that sent a thrill down his spine, made his pulse thrum in his throat. He could curl his tongue around one fang and feel the exquisite cut of it, and when he did, Riku shuddered against him, pulling back enough to lap the blood off his lips. 

“Sora,” he said, soft and rough and wanting, and Sora hummed in reply and pulled him in again. Was he a little fixated with the fact that Riku’s tongue was probably as big as his regular-human dick? Was that perhaps edging into yet another weird fetish behavior?  _ Maybe so _ . But Riku seemed to like it when Sora coaxed his tongue in little insistent sucks, if the way his hands tightened on Sora’s shoulders was any indicator.

Could he deep-throat Riku’s tongue? The idea hit him like a baseball bat to the head, his whole body tightening in anticipation. Without waiting to consider any potential downsides, like Riku biting him (which, was that a downside?  _ NO, _ his dick roared in answer,  _ THIS IS BRILLIANT! _ ), he urged Riku in deeper, careful, stroking, breathing through his nose. Riku sighed hot breath into him, his tongue curling and flexing in this utterly obscene way, so thick and heavy against the curve of Sora’s throat, his teeth scraping lightly against Sora’s lips—and this was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him, and  _ they were just making out _ . That was  _ it _ , and Sora was lightheaded already, sweat trickling down his back, so hard it ached. 

When they pulled apart, gasping, bloody saliva stretching between their lips, Sora’s legs nearly gave out. Riku steadied him, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. “This is. This is  _ a lot _ ,” Sora managed, and to his own ear he sounded about as raw as he felt, kinda shaky and more than kinda pleading, “Can—can I—” 

Riku’s breath was a hot wind down Sora’s shirt. “Can you...?” he asked. A shudder ran from Sora’s ears to his toes at the vibration of it. “What do you want?” 

His immediate, shameless answer: “Everything.” 

And Riku understood, because of course he did; he  _ was _ everything. With a low, desperate sound, he half-scooped Sora against his chest, easy as a doll, and they swayed gracelessly over towards some of the chaises and throw-pillows. There were enough strewn about to seat a fairly large party of your average human being, but even with all the them laid out like a novice camper’s worst effort Riku barely fit. And, really? Sora was okay with that. He didn’t need a spot; he could just sit on Riku.

By the time they’d gotten their makeshift bed set up, Sora felt a little less like he was going to come from one misjudged smoldering look. Which was what Riku was giving him right now, seated daintily upon his pillow throne like a spoiled cat, tail flicking, wings shimmering as he trembled. God, he could spend hours just staring at him: at the way his deep blues shifted to green and gold and violet with every twitch of muscle, the slow living pulse of magenta in his tensed talons; the soft click and rattle of quills down his spine, the twitch of frills and whiskers and antennae; and his  _ wings _ . 

“Spread your wings?” he breathed, and Riku shivered harder before he did. It was such an effortless motion now, all confidence and comfort—which made him wonder, really, how often Riku had been like this before now. He’d downplayed it, but—

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to think about it. Don’t pick at the scab.

The stretch of muscle and sail created a canopy big enough to outfit a small boat, longer than Sora’s arms outstretched end to end. He tried just to be sure by resting the barest tips of his fingers against Riku’s ribs and stretching outward as far as he could. The sail-skin was warm and delicately soft, and trembled faintly against his fingertips; Riku’s colours had the breathtaking vibrancy of nebulae, shifting and glowing beneath his careful touch.

His breath caught on something, and it took him a second to realize it was awe. A wordless sound escaped him before he could stop himself, just a little overwhelmed hum, but Riku’s ribs tightened under his hand. The wing shivered, colours muting and brightening with the pressure of Sora’s fingertips. He dragged his nails lightly back in towards himself, finding a fragile, elongated bone and running the pad of his thumb along it; how could something so thin not just snap at a touch? 

“What are you thinking about?” Riku asked softly. The wing curled inwards slightly, and Sora shivered at the faint track of tiny, too-long wing-fingertips along his bare calves, biting his lip.

“How pretty you are,” he answered. He reached upwards, pressing his palm against the heart of the wing’s hand, trying to align their fingers. “How you’re glowing.” Riku made an embarrassed noise, a kind of low, tentative grumble, and Sora shot him a sly look over his shoulder. “How much I love you.”

The expression on Riku’s face, in spite of all its new angles, nearly bowled him over in its intensity. The hot pink of his eyes seemed to pulsate, and he had the audacity to bite his lip, big white fangs denting skin. Sora stared at him, trying to parse it all out and getting progressively more and more flustered, which was the exact opposite of what he’d wanted;  _ Riku _ was supposed to be the awkward one here, blown away by Sora’s sweeping romantic gestures—and yet! Here he was, trembling a little at the adoration, the want, the  _ hunger _ leveled at him.

That wasn’t a new look for Riku—he’d seen it many times before—but never with so many sharp teeth.

It all sent a sudden, violent shiver down his spine to coil hot and electric in the pit of his stomach. He’d softened a bit while they set up their lounge, but his dick twitched with renewed interest.

“I think that’s enough admiring,” Riku said softly, his voice this low, rough rumble, almost a purr, and oh  _ fuck _ that did Such Things to him. “My turn.”

The wing he’d been exploring curled suddenly, tripping him forwards into Riku’s waiting arms. A laugh escaped him but quickly transformed into gasp as Riku’s claws pricked him through his tank top, peeling it upwards. “Okay, okay,” he managed, raising his arms to help. “I’m going!”

The shirt popped over his head and Riku flung it aside. His face dipped to stare, eyes half-lidded and molten, right into Sora’s. Sora leaned in for a kiss, only to be stopped by Riku’s hands cupping his chest, holding him just  _ just _ too far away. A little pant of annoyance escaped before he could stop himself, then he realized that Riku’s hands neatly enfolded him like he was holding a kitten, fingers interlaced to touch around his back, and holy  _ SHIT. _

“Riku,” he started, then stopped as the thumbs wrapped around his front found his nipples, rolling at them gently. “ _ Fuck _ ,” was the elegant conclusion, finished with a groan as he dragged the pads of his thumbs down until claws pricked at him, just lightly enough to sting, then rolled back upwards again, pain and pressure and heat and oh god, this was the best idea they’d ever had, they were both certified geniuses and deserved scholastic awards. 

The smug little upward quirk of Riku’s lips didn’t help with this situation at  _ all _ . Sora’s arms were free, at least, and all it took was a slight reach and tug at Riku’s cheekbones to pull him in again; Sora’s lips parted in anticipation, only for Riku’s head to dip down, and a hot, wet breath to ghost his throat. He swallowed hard, fingers clenching into Riku’s cheeks, as the barest edge of teeth slipped around his neck, and Riku’s tongue slid along the underside of his jaw so slow he had to remind himself to take a breath. The heave of his windpipe pressed Riku’s teeth into him a little harder, and he had to be honest with himself here: he was caught in the sexiest beartrap in the universe. 

Riku’s fingers flexed around him, tightening like a corset against his ribs (oooh, there was a thought), then skated downwards to settle atop his hips, apparently paused by the waist of his shorts. A high little whine escaped him, and Riku’s breath huffed around his throat, teeth digging in enough to hurt, to squeeze the last bit of air out of him. 

Pain and breathlessness and arousal were all kind of one and the same after everything he’d been through, all the drowning and deaths and rebirths; at least this was what  _ he  _ decided and not some stranger or ghost.  _ He _ chose to be caught and cradled and consumed by Riku, whom he loved. Who knew him, who cherished him, who loved him back, in spite of everything ( _ everything _ ).

Everything was stretched taut: his throat, his chest, his cock. His hands shook, nails digging into Riku’s cheekbones, and his body strained against the claws holding him firmly in place. He was starting to get lightheaded, and Riku knew because of course he did; the slow release of pressure against his windpipe took all the strength out of Sora’s knees. His head fell forward to rest against Riku’s nose, hands slipping down to clumsily grip his forearms.

Riku gently kissed his cheek as he panted. “Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sora managed, and wow, his voice sounded like he’d been sucking dick for a few hours already, scratchy and breathless. He found it in him to lean up, give him a peck on the snout in return. “Good. Excellent. Supercalifragi—”

Riku heaved a sigh that tickled his bare chest, cutting him off to snort and squirm, then yelp as he was dropped onto the pillows like a misbehaving toddler; he landed with a soft “oof” that quickly turned to a gasp as Riku crouched over him, hands massive shackles over Sora’s outstretched wrists. His wings cast Sora in shadow, and the brilliant sunlight through them muted the hot neon gleam of him to twilight. Riku’s eyes were so soft as he stared at him wordlessly, and it made Sora squirm a bit, embarrassed and. And.  _ God, _ he loved him. 

“Riku, c’mon,” he whined, and Riku’s smile pretty much murdered him on the spot: big and warm and open and  _ just for him _ . His head was spinning a bit, still air-starved and blood-starved because basically all of it was concentrated in his dick, and that meant he didn’t really know what was happening until Riku’s head dipped to his stomach. There was a hot swipe of tongue over his navel, down his stomach; Sora jerked up, straining at the claws holding his arms to watch Riku neatly bite the button off his shorts, then so gently hook his incisors in the zipper and pull… it… doooown ohhhhhhhhh SHIT. 

Riku’s eyes darted up to meet his again, pink so dark they burned like hot coals, then deliberately drifted back down to where Sora’s cock was straining in his underwear. A little urgent whine escaped him before he could stop it, and his hips twitched in barely-constrained urgency. Please, he wanted to say, if he only had the air and the brain cells—do something, do  _ anything _ .

Riku leaned down to kiss him through the cotton, a soft, near-chaste little brush of lips. Before Sora could react beyond a sharp inhale, he swiped his tongue along the length of him, and oh, fuck, oh, god, his tongue enveloped him effortlessly, completely through the fabric. Sora’s hands clawed at the pillows helplessly, gasping for air as Riku traced the lines of him; god, he was gonna come and— _ he still didn’t know if Riku had a dick like this _ .

“Stop,” he managed, and Riku immediately released him, concern furrowing his brow as he pulled back. “Sorry, I—I just need a minute.” The concern lessened slightly, replaced by the faintest curl of a smirk, and under any other circumstances Sora would have smacked him, but right now he could barely breathe.

He was shaking like he’d been sprinting, chest heaving, sweat pooling at the back of his neck. His underwear were soaked. Riku spit? Precome? Both? Definitely both. When he finally gathered enough presence of mind to sit up, bracing himself on his hands, Riku had settled back onto his haunches and was watching him with unabashed arrogance. 

“Gee, Sora,” he said genially, like he wasn’t panting just as hard. “What happened to that legendary stamina of yours?” 

Two could play at that game. “ _ Gee _ , Riku,” Sora said, narrowing his eyes. “Figured out your mystery junk yet?” 

The smugness vanished instantly, replaced by a bright blue blush across his nose and down his neck. Sora couldn’t withhold a soft little “ _ awww” _ , to which Riku’s nose wrinkled and he blushed even harder. "Look," he said, then clamped his mouth shut again like he couldn't think of a follow-up. "Okay, see—"

Oh, he was walking right into the trap now. Sora couldn't stop himself from grinning up at him. "That's a great idea, Riku!"

"What."

“You said yourself,” Sora continued, forcing himself to stand. His knees were a little shaky, and had to grab Riku’s neck to steady himself. “We can find out, and since  _ you _ haven’t done it yet...“ Riku’s eyes widened, so close to his own that Sora could see the minute contraction of his pupils; he just had to lean in a little closer and breathe into his mouth for the next bit, because  _ duh _ . “I guess I’ll have to.” 

A puff of air brushed Sora’s hair across his brow, like all of Riku’s breath had suddenly been punched out of him.

MY  _ turn _ , Sora thought, triumphant, and ran his hand up that long, graceful neck to urge Riku to tilt his chin up. A thrill ran electric down his spine at the sight of that massive jaw surrendering to the faintest brush of his fingertips, baring a blue-flushed throat all for him.

“Okay?” Sora murmured against his lips, and Riku gave the barest of nods, a low whisper of assent. His skin trembled against the pads of Sora’s fingers. God, he wanted to just sink his teeth into him—so he did, leaning in to mouth at the lovely arch just below Riku’s jaw briefly, nip the pulse of his jugular and smile at the shudder that drew out of him.

But, that wasn’t the end game here, and he couldn’t let himself get distracted by mundanities like—oh, fuck it, okay, just one more bite, since there really wasn’t anything mundane about Riku’s neck right now; it was so long and supple with new, strange muscle that Sora kind of wanted to spend a few hours memorizing, and oh? Wow? These little tendril doodads along the side? What did  _ they _ do, besides glow and look pretty? 

When Sora sucked on one for testing purposes, Riku made a sound like a vacuum that had gotten a golfball stuck in the hose, and his entire body stiffened against Sora’s front. A strange, high little gasp escaped him above Sora’s head—the golfball getting expelled, presumably—which he filed away for later, giving the tendril another parting lick before forcing himself to slide down to his knees into the pillows. Without looking up, he murmured, “Lie down. On your back.” 

A thrill ran through him when Riku immediately scrambled to comply in a delightfully graceless mess of too many too big limbs. His tail ended up being the hardest thing to deal with, and when Riku’s hesitant efforts to get it out of the way grew tiresome, Sora just sat on it after he’d shucked his shorts and underwear, bracing his hands on Riku’s splayed knees. 

His tail was thick enough up at the junction of Riku’s thighs that Sora could perch quite comfortably, and it was clearly the best spot to be while doing dick detective work. Riku peered down the length of his splayed out body, claws nervously tucked atop his chest. Sora arched an eyebrow up at him and pointedly rolled his hips into the coiled muscle beneath him, biting his lip at the sensation. Oh yeah. Good. The new texture of Riku’s skin felt divine against him.

Riku’s claws twitched, and a soft little sound escaped him, almost a whine. “Sora…”

Sora grinned at him before leaning between his knees to examine his crotch with a clinical eye. There wasn’t a dick in evidence, but there was a kind of seam, almost, that reminded Sora a lot of his own junk in Atlantica. Not that he’d taken a little aside on a mission to see how mer-people got off or anything—that would’ve been very irresponsible. 

(He had. It had been fucking  _ awesome _ . No wonder dolphins were so happy all the time.) 

With that in mind, he braced a palm on Riku’s inner thigh, and drew a slow, careful trail along the seam with a fingertip. Riku’s breath hitched, so he pressed a little harder. The very tip of his finger slid in, so easy, and oh—oh fuck, oh  _ god _ , it was hot and sticky-slick and he could feel something long and rigid and suspiciously like The Goods twitch against him.

“T-tell me,” he started, then had to stop to try to draw some moisture back into his suddenly too-dry tongue. God, it took every fibre of his being not to just start grinding frantically into the crook of Riku’s tail and thigh, but he had to last—he had to get to the good stuff. “Tell me to stop if you need, okay?” 

“Don’t,” Riku growled, and Sora’s eyes darted up to find him open-mouthed, panting, claws clenched in cages atop his ribcage. “Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ .”

F! U! C! K! _ FUCK! _

Sora nodded quickly and inhaled deep through his nose, biting his lip as he pressed in a little harder, stroking between the lips of the seam until he reached the top. Riku’s body trembled underneath him, back arching and pressing him up against Sora’s palm in a not-so-subtle hint to move a little faster. He tasted blood, realized he’d chewed his lip too hard, did  _ not  _ care, slipped a second finger in and gently spread them apart, parting the seam enough that he could see what exactly he was ecstatically flinging himself into.

“Oh,  _ Riku _ ,” he whispered. “Look at you.” 

Riku’s deep, helpless groan reverberated through Sora’s entire body, and Sora really wanted to make exactly the same sound, but he couldn’t really wrap his mind around the concept of air. Given space and some careful encouragement from Sora’s fingers, his cock unfurled: hot blue deepening to midnight at the base, strange bumps and ridges whorling and coiling around the shaft, pulsing and filling deliciously in his hand as he stroked it free. Riku shook underneath him, making the most distracting hot little pants and gasps, and Sora was kind of at that point, too, just fucking blasted to some other plane of reality.

It was too thick to wrap his hand around entirely, and longer than anything he’d dared so far; his brain helpfully reminded him that he  _ did _ have really tiny hands, and it wasn’t  _ that _ much bigger than his most adventurous toy (the one Riku jokingly referred to as “hamster eating a banana” and, well, okay, yeah). And now that he really had a moment to look at the whole thing, to stare at it in helpless, wide-eyed hunger—yeah, he could handle this, no problem! With enough lube and prep, anything was possible!

It wasn’t even a question.  _ He absolutely had to _ . If he woke up and remembered that he hadn’t taken this opportunity to be split in half by his monster boyfriend’s equally monstrous cock, he would carry that regret with him for the rest of his days. On his deathbed, Sora would have to claw his way up out of the sheets and grab whichever attending family member was closest, pull them down by the collar, and whisper: “Never let the opportunity to ride the biggest, prettiest dick you’ve ever seen pass you by.”

Then he’d die, a sad husk, and his urn would be placed reverently on the mantlepiece.

(This was the highly unlikely good ending, of course. He liked to entertain himself with the idea of getting past 30, sometimes.)

He glanced up to Riku’s face, not quite capable of coherent sentences, and found Riku staring back at him, his eyes wide. “It’s…” he began, but seemed to not have a follow-up. His gaze kept flicking from Sora’s face to his dick, like he couldn’t decide which was a more pressing matter at the moment.

“It’s  _ awesome _ ,” Sora provided for him, beaming. 

Riku’s entire face, neck, and chest flushed bright blue, and his ears flicked back. “I was going to say  _ weird _ , but, okay,” he said, adorably tentative. “It’s… it’s really big.”

“Extremely large. Massive.  _ Gargantuan _ ,” Sora agreed with a cheshire grin, wiggling his eyebrows. Riku made a choking sound, like he was trying to stifle laughter, then gave up, his head falling back to thump into the pillows. His helpless giggles jounced Sora on his tail, and he tipped over with a squawk.

“Riku!” he whined, half-pinned between his tail and his big dumb muscular thigh. “Stop it!” 

“What was that?” came the obnoxious taunt in reply. “I think you forgot to say ‘please’.”

Oh, okay, that was how it was going to be? Scowling, Sora grabbed the innocently dangling foot he could reach—he had little pink paw pads like a cat  _ who gave him the RIGHT _ —and tickled the arch of it. Riku gargled and twitched so violently that Sora got clipped in the ear, bowling him back over onto the tail again. Head spinning, he heaved the offending foot with him and kept at it.

“I will not,” he grunted, holding on for dear life as Riku gyrated and flailed, laughing hysterically, “be THREATENED,” woOOAH SHIT that kick nearly got him in the jaw, “by somebody with a dick bigger than their BRAIN—”

That was when Riku rolled them, and Sora found himself trapped beneath the massive, heaving weight of Riku’s body, his claws gently tangled in Sora’s hair. All the breath rushed out of him in a wheeze as Riku carefully bumped his massive forehead into Sora’s, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you,” he murmured, and Sora’s heart clenched, tight and trembling. “But guess what?”

“What?” Sora breathed.

“My dick is bigger than  _ your _ brain, too.”

_ Oh, _ Sora thought, dumbstruck with affection and awe and a weird kind of sudden, out-of-place sadness,  _ I love him so much.  _

And he must’ve said as much, even though he hadn’t meant to, because Riku kissed him—then licked the tears from his cheek in a single swipe of tongue.

“I want,” Sora began, reaching up to grasp what he could of Riku’s arms. “Can we...”

Riku waited for him, as he always did, patient and gentle, while Sora tried to get his thoughts in order again. Eventually he had to settle on something less elegant than the situation seemed to warrant; he took a deep, shaking breath and smoothed the fine peach fuzz of Riku’s arms up, down. “Fuck me?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Riku breathed.

This truly must have been some kind of pleasure gazebo, as he’d earlier suspected, because it only took a little hunting around the terrace to find a ceramic jar of some kind of oil. The sun haloed Riku as he pried the jar open, and light refracted through the long trails of it that dripped off his claws like honey, dribbling onto Sora’s stomach in a slow, hot stream. Everything felt slow, suddenly, like they were dropping into some further layer of dreaming—one where Sora could turn his brain off entirely, become just this: a vessel for sensation, drawing his hands through the oil puddling in the dip of his navel and stroking it up and down his abdomen, his chest, until it was a slick, decadent slide. 

Warm oil, warm sun, Riku’s warm palms and talons covering his hands and drawing them down, down. Every breath Riku exhaled was a hot wind over Sora’s body, and his claws were so gentle as he guided Sora’s hand onto his own cock. Fuck, his hand was so big. Sora felt like a doll, just letting Riku hold his fingers around himself and let the oil drip and slide between their entwined palms in lazy, slow strokes—and that was good, that was  _ exactly _ right.

“Lemme,” he managed, untangling their hands so he could slide his fingers between his parted thighs, carefully push into himself with a sigh. Yeah, that was good. It always ached in just the right way at first; by the time he’d gotten the second finger in, the ache had dimmed to something faint and manageable, overlaid with satisfaction, warmth,  _ stretch _ , the heavy weight of Riku’s eyes on him.

Riku’s hands encircled the backs of his thighs and pushed, gently; Sora relaxed into it, let him push his legs up enough that he could watch him finger himself. His wicked thumb-claws drew delicate patterns on his inner thighs, occasionally digging in just enough to prick, just enough to make Sora’s dick throb. At some point, Sora had to close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to feel the intensity of that gaze on him, the raw desire and hunger and  _ care _ burning in his eyes so hotly that Sora would probably blow his load WAY too early. 

Riku did things like that all the time, and Sora wouldn’t change it for the world.

Three fingers, four, and that still wouldn’t be enough. At home he’d work up to bigger and bigger toys before moving onto Hamster Eating A Banana (he'd fisted himself up to it a couple times, too, but only when Riku was there to watch and help), but their convenient dream pleasure gazebo wasn’t that well-stocked. “You got,  _ ah, _ ” Sora gasped, prying an eyelid open to glance at Riku. “Anything we can use to prep—that.  _ Mm. _ That won’t break me?” 

Riku’s little snort of laughter sent a thrill of joy through him. “Let's see," he murmured, rubbing infuriating, hot little circles on Sora's inner thighs. He examined his claws, shook his head in some kind of mock-disappointment, before releasing one of Sora's legs to make room for—

_ The tail. _

"Fuck," Sora said, intelligently. The fingers he had jammed into his ass up to the knuckle twitched in time with his dick. "You think—?" 

Riku raised his eyebrows, and his mouth twitched in a secretive little smile. "Won't know until we try, right, Sora?" And the way he drew out Sora's name, like a taunt, like a challenge—that alone would've been enough to push him to wild and highly inadvisable feats, but then Riku picked up the end of his tail, letting it drape like heavy velvet rope over his knuckles. As he stared, it curled idly in the air, a beckoning finger as thick as his fist, and—oh.  _ Oh.  _

" _ Yeah," _ Sora rasped. He couldn't help but jerk his hips a little onto his fingers, trying to drive them in farther, but Riku's hands on his thighs again stilled him. A little whine escaped him; he knew the payoff would be worth it, that he could be patient, but god, he  _ ached _ .

"Talk to me?" he groaned, spreading his fingers gently, stretching, trying not to think. "It's.  _ Hah. _ It's a lot."

Riku's hands smoothed down the undersides of his thighs, warm and slick with oil. Hot breath on his stomach made him shiver. "I love that you want me even like this," and he felt the tail coil itself gently around his wrist, thick and slippery, helping him fuck himself, "that you let me  _ love _ you like this," a gentle kiss pressed in the center of his chest, the tail urging him to slowly, slowly pull his fingers out, and oh, god, the wet sound of them coming free was utterly obscene, "that you dream this, just for us."

“Of course I do—you’re so fucking hot like this,” Sora rasped, and Riku’s chuckle was a soft burr in his throat. "And it's—mmnn—it's  _ you _ ." The tail taking his fingers' place was a relief: a smooth and gradual thickening that he and Riku together fed into him, bit by bit. The slow, decadent undulation of foreign muscle inside of him felt—so different. The size wasn’t too weird, but the taper and the flex of it was entirely new.

“Dweeb," Riku said, so fond, but just a little breathless.

"Jerk," Sora replied, just as fond, much more breathless. 

A helpless whine escaped him and Riku leaned over to capture his lips, but all Sora could do was gasp open-mouthed into the cage of his teeth; it was hard to tell just how much was exactly in him, let alone how much more he could feasibly take—and the very idea of it, of just having  _ that much _ of Riku—

Not  _ all  _ of Riku though, for all that he wanted that even now: to devour him, for Riku to be under every inch of his body like a second skin. The desire was so impossible and intense that he could never find the words for it. 

Riku's breath was harsh and wet over his chin as he pulled back, his voice low, urgent, "Think you're ready?" 

Probably not, but since when had that ever stopped them? "Yeah," he gasped, and Riku made a helpless sound, licking his chin, his neck, even as he ever-so-carefully pulled his tail free. The sudden void was almost startling; his fingers clutched the pillows convulsively. He tried to force himself to breathe normally, but fucking  _ Riku _ had reared back onto his haunches, wings half-spread behind him in haloed brilliance, to make him watch him lube himself up.

His expression was smug as he poured more oil onto his talons, and Sora had to admit that, yeah, if he were that pretty and had a dick that fucking massive he'd be smug too. The saving grace? This was  _ all his.  _ This entire nightmare-devouring monster currently running killing claws along the prettiest, biggest cock he'd ever seen, about to fuck his brains out?  _ His  _ monster. 

_ Thank you, _ Sora prayed silently,  _ whichever extraordinarily perverted higher power is listening, for letting me have my own personal boyfriend monster. I hope you've enjoyed the show so far. I'll send you a fruit basket in thanks. _

_ You know, a fruit basket? Because I'm about to be a pineapple in a hydraulic press and love every second of it. _

Riku loomed over him again, oil-slick claws urging his legs up, and Sora helplessly flowed with him, thighs trembling in his grip. “Okay,” Riku said, voice a little tight with—excitement? Trepidation? Both? “Okay…”

He didn’t have to be nervous. This was a dream, after all, and it was  _ them _ . Still, Sora reached up to stroke his cheek, and Riku bit his lip. “Don’t worry,” Sora told him gently. “I won’t break. I trust you. So... Trust me.” 

A puff of laughter escaped him, and he squeezed Sora’s thighs. “I know. I do.” 

“Then come  _ on _ .” He rolled his hips back, felt Riku’s cock slide against the curve of his ass, so hard Sora’s heart stuttered in overwhelmed love and lust. Riku breathed a curse, and then—

_ Oh,  _ Sora thought wildly.  _ Oh, oh, oh _ .

The pressure, the stretch, was indescribable. It was like taking his biggest toy, yeah, except it was  _ Riku _ ,  _ Riku _ huge and hot and oh, god, he could feel Riku’s heartbeat pounding inside of him alongside his own. It hurt some, yeah, but that was good, too; he knew by now how to take that pain apart in his head like unraveling a tapestry until he was moaning, gasping, heaving for breath and for  _ more _ . 

He scrabbled for something to hold onto, found Riku’s biceps, and dug his nails in for dear life. He’d closed his eyes at some point, to keep focus on  _ relaxing _ , letting Riku ease himself in. He could feel Riku's arms shaking under his fingertips. Sora's heart was caught somewhere in his throat, hammering rabbit-quick; he could've sworn it stuttered with each slow, inward push of Riku's cock. Every new, fascinating groove and ridge of it massaged his insides in the most obscene, delicious way; half an eternity into this apparently endless slide, a series of bumps prodded ruthlessly against his prostate, like beads only hot and throbbing, and Sora had to bite his own tongue viciously against orgasm right then and there.

Somewhere, someone was moaning, and it took a minute to realize it was him.

When the movement paused for longer than a few seconds, Sora forced himself to open his eyes. Riku's chest hovered over him; at some point he’d slid up Sora’s body to get the full length of him in, and his arms braced beside his ribs. Through a dizzy haze, he managed to tilt his head back to look past himself, catch sight of Riku's head hanging; mouth agape in vast, heaving breaths; eyes squeezed shut. Violent tremors ran along his neck and arms, mirrored down Sora's whole body.

Sora felt like he was going to shake apart, and the only thing keeping him in one piece was the fact that he was fucking stuffed with Riku's cock.  _ That _ knowledge sent a wave of heat spiralling out of his stomach, and he dared to squeeze around him; Riku’s soft little stutter of breath was fucking ambrosia.

“You’re so tight,” Riku breathed, voice ragged, “Are you—”

Whatever he was going to finish that with was a lost cause, because holding still wasn’t a possibility anymore. “Don’t stop,” Sora ordered, rolling his hips, trying to pull himself up and down his shaft with little success because god,  _ god _ , every movement was a tiny earthquake and he was being thrown off balance, toes curled tight against the edge, trying not to topple.  _ “Fuck _ , Riku—”

Riku growled something that could've been Sora's name, and Sora just growled back, digging his nails in and clenching, hard, around him. Riku's neck twisted, and teeth nipped sharply at his throat as he pulled back and  _ thrust _ ; the ripple of texture, of pressure, of unimaginable fullness punched the air out of him in a high gasp. He couldn’t seem to get his breath back through the dig of Riku's teeth, the rhythm of his cock pumping into him (god, it felt even bigger with each squeezed thrust against the slick clench of his rim); each inhale was caught on something, turning into a squeaked, tense little repetitions of meaningless sounds.

He was being fucked senseless. It was  _ fantastic _ . Thoughts, images, and ideas sped through his brain at unheard-of velocities, liquid and nonsensical. One hand still clenched into Riku’s arm while the other skated down his oil-slick stomach, brushed against his own aching dick, and encircled what part of Riku’s shaft he could. The fact that not all of it fit, even when Sora felt like he’d never be able to walk straight again, was dizzying;  _ and _ , he realized, with the wild-eyed faux-clarity of the extremely drunk, he  _ still couldn’t get his hand all the way around it _ . Riku’s thrusts stuttered to an abrupt stop, and a low, ragged gasp brushed against Sora’s hair.

“K-keep going,” Sora urged, and wow, he even sounded drunk. Something to add to his resume. Skills: can do some wild backflips, makes a mean croque madame, capable of getting completely wasted on dick. “Want to feel you.”

Riku sobbed and shuddered into slow movement again, every bump and ridge and strange coil of flesh squeezing past Sora’s curled fingers. He couldn’t encircle the girth, but he could sort of twist his wrist enough to explore every side as Riku moved, and that earned him another helpless groan. Riku’s head ducked into his shoulder when he found a heavy vein, panting like he was going to hyperventilate; Sora dared to press against it, let his finger curiously follow it all the way to where they were joined together. Felt his hole stretch obscenely around Riku’s cock with his fingertips. 

Riku hadn’t stopped, but he was going so slow, like he was still afraid Sora would rip in half—which, to be fair, felt kind of possible right now, but oh, it would be a happy death—and it was fucking torturous. His head fell back against the pillows with a breathy curse, hands pulling back to grab at Riku’s cheeks and pulling his big dumb beautiful head over to look him right in the eyes. “ _ More _ ,” he demanded, except his voice cracked as those bumps prodded relentlessly past his prostate again, so slow he could feel each one pressing and passing by, each a jolt that tightened his lungs until he was struggling to breathe at all. 

"I don’t think..." Riku whispered, his voice taut and shaking. "Feels like I can’t fit—"

Sora groaned, tugging helplessly at Riku's cheeks, rolling his hips as best he could. "You don't _ — _ f- _ fuck _ —" and it was such a struggle to inhale, to shape the next words, but he had to or Riku was just going to start getting sweet and sappy and then Sora would too, and he loved that—but he also wanted to be fucked into outerspace. They could be sappy  _ afterwards.  _ "You don't fit  _ yet,"  _ he gasped out at last, using every bit of strength and leverage to twist himself on his cock, and nearly screamed with frustration when Riku's hands stopped him, claws digging warningly into his hips.

" _ Yet,"  _ Riku rumbled in his ear, setting every hair on Sora's body on end with anticipation. A shiver ran through him, and he managed to pry his eyes open enough to watch Riku peel his body back, his cock drawing back out of Sora agonizingly slow until only the thick head remained squeezed into him. Even that was a lot; he was trembling at the heat, rim twitching against the barest swollen edge of it. There was a brush of movement beside him, and Sora glanced to find Riku’s wings braced on either side of his head, the big thumb talon of them splayed, knuckles digging into the pillows. Before he could figure out what  _ that _ meant, Riku’s hands slid along the undersides of his thighs, urging them upward.

Sora’s heart stuttered at the sensation of talons drawing thick lines through the oil coating his thighs, and stopped entirely for a moment as Riku’s palms enveloped his asscheeks. He didn’t even need both palms for it, but the feeling of being completely cupped in his grip was. Wow. A soft sound escaped him as Riku kneaded his cheeks briefly, spreading him a bit around the head of his cock, letting a little more of his shaft slide in again. Sora’s knuckles popped as he clenched the pillows, a high whine scraping past his teeth.

Sora looked up, up,  _ up _ the long, muscled expanse of Riku’s stomach, chest, the graceful arch of his neck, and found Riku’s eyes. His pupils were black holes encircled by the slivered haloes of hot, glowing fuschia, and Sora wondered briefly, wildly, if he could dive into them; what kind of dream would he find there?

Then Riku smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges, and it was contagious. Sora could never  _ not _ smile back. His heart felt unmoored from his ribcage, threatening to slip free—and he knew Riku would catch it, ever so carefully, to return to him. The claws holding his ass pulled him up a bit, and Sora automatically braced himself on his elbows, ankles resting against Riku’s hips.

“Hold on,” Riku whispered, that smile curling towards smug, and pressed forward, his weight leaned atop his wings, claws gently pulling Sora’s ass up as he slid in again—and it was almost easy this time. Sora’s eyes fluttered shut, a groan hissing out through his teeth at the long, slick squeeze, arching his back into Riku’s hands; Riku’s mouth found his, brushing softly at his lips as he kept going and going and  _ going _ —

Until Sora felt himself pressed tight against Riku’s abdomen, thighs nearly sandwiched between his body and Riku’s. He trembled against Riku’s hips, calves rubbing at the velvet edge of his wing-sails, feet tangled in soft, warm tendrils and quills. They panted into one another’s mouths, until Riku swallowed convulsively, claws kneading into Sora’s ass. A soft groan worked itself out of him, and he scrabbled for something to hold before locating Riku’s forearms again. He didn’t let himself think better of it, just dug his fingers in and  _ shoved _ himself backwards, sliding himself back along Riku’s cock; Riku gasped into his mouth, and Sora could only sob in return. God, it was so much. It was  _ so good _ . 

He was completely enveloped in Riku and completely enveloping him back. Sensation rolled through him like a tide coming in, massive and inevitable; his body was stuffed to the brim with Riku’s cock, the angle of his hips shoved new and indescribable pressure against his prostate, and Riku’s stomach squeezed his dick between them in a delicious, precome-slippery sandwich that was going to drive him steadily insane.

Riku’s heartbeat syncopated to his own, before Riku pulled him back up in a long, slow drag, like he wanted him to memorize every ridge and bump, every inch out of way too many inches. “Love you,” he heard against his ear, distant, ringing through a narrow tunnel of pure, agonizing ecstasy—then Riku’s hips snapped against him, and again, and  _ again _ , the rhythm steady and unending. At some point Sora realized he’d started talking, babbling nonsense as he tried to rock into the thrusts, tried to press Riku deeper with hands and hips and heels,  _ Yes _ and  _ Love you, love you _ and  _ You feel, I feel— _

“You feel so perfect. You’re doing so well—taking all of me.” Hot breath huffed against his chin; Riku was panting, breathy little grunts forced out of him with each thrust, and Sora wanted to eat those sounds up like candy. His voice stuttered on each word and Sora chased after them against his mouth. “You’re stretched out so beautifully just for me—” He could feel Riku’s teeth slide against his lips, his voice gone low and harsh and raw. “ _ Want you to see my come dripping out of you when I’m done _ .”

Oh, oh, fuck, god, oh— His heart stuttered, and he clenched against the slide of Riku’s cock convulsively, unable to stop himself. His voice caught and broke, pitching wildly as he tried not to lose it. “I’m— _ Riku _ , I’m—” 

"Come for me," Riku hissed at his ear, mouthing at his throat, teeth scraping, claws clenching into Sora's shoulders. “Sora,  _ please _ .” 

His chest was a vice, lightning was caught in his stomach, and he was shaking apart in too-brilliant waves, his body arching and compressing and then expanding for what felt like an age. Over the high-pitched, electric thrumming in his ears as he came back to himself, he could hear Riku, faintly, his voice escaping in raw, broken gasps, bucking into him helplessly until Sora found the presence of mind to touch his cheek and whisper in his ear, “C’mon, you too.”

Riku’s teeth clamped into his shoulder, hard, and Sora could only moan against it, taking in sensations in flashes: pain, stretch, overwhelming fullness,  _ heat _ , the final convulsive jerks of Riku’s cock into him as he came in molten spurts. God, he  _ was _ dripping, like he couldn’t fit any more of Riku inside him; hot, thick lines of come slipped down the backs of his thighs in steady rivers, mingling with sweat and oil and slicking into Riku’s fingers where he had Sora in a death grip, obscene little wet sounds emerging from every squeeze of his palms. 

And Sora couldn’t berate himself for this deeper dive into Fetishes You Shouldn’t Have Nor Disclose, not when it felt  _ so fucking good _ .

The slow release of Riku’s jaw on his shoulder drew a helpless whimper out of him, soothed quickly by slow, apologetic swipes of a very big tongue.

“Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to bite that hard,” Riku whispered. His voice trembled a bit. “Are you okay?” 

Was he? Sora had to think about it for a moment, and thinking was  _ extremely  _ difficult right now. Opening his eyes took the same effort as lifting a boulder, but oh, it was worth it: Riku’s face was right next to his, eyes wide and rosy pale with concern and affection, brow furrowed, still panting. There was a crease on one cheek from where he must’ve been pressing his face into the pillows too hard, and Sora couldn’t help a breathless giggle. “Jury’s still out,” he managed. He sounded like he’d been gargling kerosene, which was pretty cool. “Just got my soul fucked out of my body, so.”

Riku’s head clunked down against the pillows beside his own, his low groan muffled into them. Sora reached awkwardly to pat his creased cheek, leaving some smears of oil and sweat and oh, wow, how had he gotten come all the way on his  _ hand _ ? Well, it was on Riku now. “There, there,” he slurred. “That’s why they invented Curaga.”

Riku made a sound that sounded suspiciously like “ _ Soraaaaaaaaaaaaaaa _ ,” and the only reply he had ready for that was to twist as much as he could and kiss him beside his ear (narrowly avoiding the come smear). But keeping himself propped up on an elbow when he felt like he’d been run over repeatedly by wildebeest was out of the question. He flopped back into his best impression of a corpse, boneless, his whole body a slowly stilling tuning fork. 

“Let’s just… stay like this,” he muttered. “It’s nice here.” 

Riku was silent for a moment save for the slowing bellows of his breath. Then he raised his head again, and returned the kiss gently against Sora’s cheek. “For as long as you like,” he said softly. “Gonna pull out, okay?”

Sora mumbled an affirmative; he basically had no skeleton at the moment, every muscle relaxed, and Riku knew how slow he had to go when they’d been messing around with the big toys. No… Big  _ dick _ , he thought, slowly, wonderingly. Wow, this just happened, didn’t it? Oh, yeah, it totally did. He winced a little as Riku finally, carefully pulled his cock free, and shivered as even more come spilled out of him. He managed to open his eyes enough to see Riku staring at his ass, eyes narrowed and sharp with a far-off glint of what Sora liked to call “See You Later”. It took a lot more effort than he’d have thought to reach around and rub a finger against his hole; fuck, he was going to be feeling this for weeks, but watching Riku’s eyes round to pale pink marbles as he smeared come around against himself made it all worth it.

That, and knowing he’d done it. He’d gotten the giant, beautiful dick in,  _ and _ gotten the shit bitten out of him, exactly as planned. Smugness and pleasure and satisfaction curled, warm and cat-like, in his belly—comfortingly solid atop the curious hollow drift coiled below.

“I won’t ask what you’re smirking about,” Riku murmured. Sora mumbled something noncommittal—he’d explain his victory at length later—that turned into a grunt of displeasure as Riku shifted, standing. He gently pressed Sora’s seeking grabby hands back against his oil-slick chest. “Relax, I’m just getting a cloth or something to clean up.”

Oh,  _ fine _ , he tried to say, but only a sigh came out as Riku move away. The full weight of this bright place’s sun settled atop him in warm, heavy folds, and that. That was good. He could just stay like this for a long time. The temptation to just close his eyes was interrupted by Riku's return, his body silhouetted above him. 

"Don't clock out on me just yet." 

Sora barely had the energy to roll his eyes, and Riku's amused snort told him how effective the attempt was. But, whatever, Sora told himself. It was the intent that counted. Riku curled himself around him, big and soft and warm, and gently started to wipe him clean with a damp cloth of some sort, so nothing else really mattered; Sora could float, content in the careful pressure of Riku's hands.

"Do you want to sleep some now?" Riku asked, and Sora roused himself enough to really think about it. It would be nice, to drift off. The fact that this was already a dream didn't really matter. That he might unwittingly drop into some deeper, darker layer was irrelevant. They'd already swum out of worse. 

He was probably going to wake up soon, anyway, and lose all the brilliant clarity of this moment. 

"In a bit," he replied, tilting his head back enough that he could really see Riku's face in all its strange, fascinating angles. His brow furrowed in adorable concentration as he found the come on his own cheek, wiping it off and staring at the cloth in confusion. Still Riku, in spite of everything. And he was still Sora, too, somehow. 

Maybe, he allowed himself, very tentatively,  _ maybe _ that wasn't so bad.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I write for fun, and I'm not looking for criticism, constructive or otherwise. Please keep any comments in the realm of positivity.


End file.
